


But Never Could Fill the Void

by ardett



Series: Love is a Polaroid [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Belonging, Character Study, Drabble, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, self-motivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6549220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A void on both sides, one that swallows his self worth, one that swallows everything else he's ever felt, and all Yamaguchi has to lose, <i>has to keep</i>, is his pride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Never Could Fill the Void

**Author's Note:**

> A part of the Love is a Polariod series, but read as a stand alone, like all the stories in this series.
> 
> Basically a character study of what it's like to be one on the sidelines and how being on a team can be the best and worst thing you've ever done.

Sometimes Yamaguchi is hit with this overwhelming sense of inadequacy. It’s like he suddenly ceases to matter and everything about him, all his self worth and achievements, become condensed into this one moment. And in this moment, he fails.

Sometimes Yamaguchi hit with this utter feeling of belonging, being a part of something great, helping make that something great. In this moment, he is not himself but everyone and nothing matters but that connection.

It’s staggering, crippling.  
And it only happens when he’s playing volleyball.

He just can’t compete. He’s barely there, at a playing level, and he can’t get his body to act the way he wants it to, he can’t find control and,  


He desperately want to contribute something other than his sweat, blood and tears, he wants to improve, he wants _to win_.  
He has an obligation, a responsibility, to his teammates, because he is a link in the chain, a number on the court.

He’s all alone.  
He can’t be allowed to call himself a part of this team when he isn’t _a part of the team_ , until he’s more than just words shouted from the sidelines. There is too much shame in that.

He wants to prove himself. He wants to be valuable.  
He wants to feel that thrill of success, he wants to be a part of the energy that brings screams echoing through the air.

He doesn’t want to feel it from the sidelines.

  
Everyone is excelling but him, everyone loves it but him.  


He loves it, the feeling of the ball hitting solidly on his hand, hand hitting solidly on his back, the trust people look at him with when he comes up to serve.

And he…

  
He is tired, he is weak, he is that missed receive, messed up serve, over and over again.  


He is success and effort, always, always effort, straining to gain a place on the team, striving to earn it over and over again.

He can’t measure up, not to the geniuses, not to the experienced players, not to the naturals and sometimes, not to the passionate.

He’s improving, every day he gets better, because he works at it like it’s love and life and friendship,

But he has a long, long way to go.  
The sweat stings on his cracked lips, his throat scratches, his arms burn and Tsukishima’s words hurt, reminding him, _“Of course you’re at a disadvantage. Everyone’s been playing longer than you and you’re not that sporty anyway.”_  
It’s worse when his palms sting from nails being dug in, when his throat scratches from sideline screams, when his heart burns with anxiety from his teammates and his own words pierce his ears, like he deserves to offer encouragement when he’s not doing anything.

But he will do something, when he stands on that court, when he takes that ball, when he’s trusted with that serve, he will not be spineless. He will give it everything,

All the pain he’s suffered on the sidelines,

All the joy and triumph in his veins,

He will give everything he has.

He wants to quit, he doesn’t like to fail, doesn’t enjoy the sore muscles, hates the void of self worth the sport has nestled in his mind.  


How could he quit though, how could he give this up? Then perhaps he would feel nothing at all because nothing makes him cry, shout, _feel_ like this. There would be a gaping void.

But he can’t, won’t, because even if he’s inadequate, he can’t, won’t be a disappointment.

  
Which he is. Inadequate, that is.

But he’s not a disappointment.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a bitch to code, you have no idea  
> (New side note, just discovered that if you use rich text, you don't have to code, ha ha ha oh)


End file.
